Damsels And Dragons
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Now a continuing story! Miranda is falling for Andy, hard. But she's as icy as ever! Meanwhile Andy is confused by her feelings, both for Miranda and for a powerful older man with some dark secrets of his own. Will love win out in the end?
1. Museum Fundraiser

DAMSELS AND DRAGONS

_Miranda doesn't deal well with feeling vulnerable. Luckily Andy is very understanding. Of course I do not own these enchanting characters. Please comment nicely! _

_Chapter One: Museum Fundraiser_

"Oh, I know this one. I know this one! I . . . I . . . oh, bloody hell!" With a violent sneeze, poor Emily Charlton noisily announced that she really was not ready to identify the tall, silver-haired man who was about to shake Miranda's hand at the exclusive Manhattan fund-raiser.

"Prescott Hamilton," Andy Sachs supplied helpfully, whispering in her boss' ear. "Harvard trained, foreign affairs journalist. Wrote the classic work on Vietnam policy makers, Knights of Dishonor. Now he mostly writes about baseball."

"Prescott, what a thrill!" Miranda was already squeezing the attractive older man's hand, her radiant smile in full force. "The Babe Ruth of sports writers, hitting a home run for an art museum in trouble. Some knights really do rescue damsels in distress!"

"Only from fire-breathing dragons," the legendary journalist replied, tossing a friendly wink at youthful Andy while presenting white-haired Miranda with an enormous check.

"Wud was _thad_ sub-posed to mead?" Emily's crisp, elegant British accent was buried beneath a terrible cold.

"Miranda, would it possibly be okay if we sent Emily home a little early? She's really not feeling well," Andy whispered, gently squeezing Miranda's arm.

"Have you absolutely lost your mind?" The icy challenge in those clear gray eyes instantly reduced Andy to jelly. "This happens to be a very important event. We are here to raise money for the museum, _not_ to make eyes at older men."

"I'll stay with you," Andy promised, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "I'm yours for the night, Miranda."

It was a very successful night. Even with silly Emily gone home to bed, Miranda was able to work the room brilliantly with Andrea by her side. There was no question that the brown-eyed beauty was growing comfortable with her role. Maybe a little too comfortable, Miranda thought, watching the slim young creature hold that silly old writer absolutely spellbound with some incomprehensible story about watching baseball on television with her grandfather.

"You certainly connected with Prescott Hamilton tonight," the older woman observed, in her most acid tone, when the two of them were finally alone together in her private limousine.

"He reminded me of my grandfather," Andy innocently confided. "I could have talked to him all night!" The young woman blushed. "I mean, I know he's a very important writer, but we just connected like we'd known each other forever."

"Yes, I can definitely see the attraction," Miranda snarked. "A silver knight to rescue you from the fire-breathing dragon."

"Miranda?" Andy's lovely face showed a child's wonder. "Miranda, are you telling me you were _jealous_?"

"Not another word," snapped the famous fashion editor. "I have two assistants. One of them is moderately capable. That's all."

The two of them rode on in silence for a while. Miranda sat very straight, cloaking herself with fragile dignity. With her chin in the air and her diamonds glittering, she looked every inch the elegant princess. Not the fire-breathing dragon.

Then something quite remarkable occurred. As Roy guided the limo around a sharp curve, Andrea accidentally allowed her lovely head to fall against the older woman's shoulder.

"Sometimes the stories have it wrong," she whispered. "Sometimes the damsel falls in love with the dragon."


	2. Weekend Invitation

_Chapter Two: Weekend Invitation_

Naturally Miranda disregarded Andy's shy confession. The tender scene in the limo might never have happened. The next day, she worked her young assistant harder than ever. Andy felt like an Olympic athlete running a decathlon in four inch heels and Calvin Klein sunglasses. By the end of the day she was too exhausted to even remember putting her head on her boss' shoulder and shyly confessing her love.

And the same thing happened the next day.

And the next.

By the end of the week, with everyone gearing up for the first warm weekend of summer, Andy was just starting to feel that things were getting back to normal again – normal being a constant state of terror and anxiety. Her last job, late one very warm and sticky Friday evening, was to drop off the book at Miranda's town house.

Andy was yawning by the time she climbed the marble steps, the book under one arm and a heavy garment bag slung over her shoulder. After a week like this, she needed a long hot bath and ten or twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Now if she could just slip in and out quietly . . .

It wasn't easy to tiptoe in high heels. Andy tripped, and then things took a turn for the worse – but in a slow-motion, disaster-movie sort of way. She dropped the heavy garment bag containing Miranda's dry cleaning. The shy, dark-eyed beauty was crouching in the hallway in a short black skirt, trying to pick it up with one hand while holding on to the book with the other when a soft voice spoke behind her.

"For heaven's sake, Andrea. Don't worry about hanging up my things. They've been soiled by your inexplicable clumsiness. Take them back and have them done again. Then go home and rest. You and I are going to the Hamptons in the morning."

"We are?" Andy's palms were sweaty as she handed over the book. She felt so flushed all of a sudden. Overheated. Her employer looked as cool and crisp as a head of Romaine lettuce. "I'm sorry, Miranda, but I don't remember seeing anything on your schedule for tomorrow . . ."

"You didn't. This weekend my ex-husband has the girls, and I have decided to use this time as an opportunity to get to know you better. I'm inviting you to spend the weekend with me at a friend's house. Do you have a problem with that?"

"God, no!" Andy felt as if she were going into shock. She hugged the garment bag in both arms like a life preserver. "Is this a date, Miranda? Whose house are we going to? What do I need to pack? Do you want me to . . ."

"Please, bore someone else with your questions." Miranda pulled the garment bag out of her assistant's hands, and tossed it right back on the floor.

Andy gasped.

And then Miranda kissed her!


	3. Books and Autographs

_Chapter Three: Books and Autographs_

Andy was wired. She felt so pumped up after Miranda asked her out on a date that she just _couldn't_ go to bed right away. When she got back to her tiny, messy apartment she threw her Prada bag in the corner and did a ridiculous little twirl.

And then the phone rang.

"Doug, you won't believe what just happened!" Andy squealed, certain it was her warm, sweet, gay best friend.

"I'm sorry, Andrea, this is Prescott Hamilton calling. Is this a bad time?" The low voice was warm, male and mysterious. Andy Sachs got goosebumps.

"Prescott Hamilton?" She flopped on the unmade bed, her brain flashing images of the distinguished, attractive older man she'd met at the museum fundraiser the other night. He wasn't a fashion person, but he was a respected journalist, very friendly and down to earth. Andy remembered chatting baseball with him for hours!

"I'm guessing you just got some very good news." Amused, the warm voice sounded even friendlier and more appealing.

"My boss just asked me – invited me – we're going to the Hamptons this weekend!" Andy felt so breathless and excited that she just had to tell _someone_. Even so, discussing Miranda's personal business felt a little funny. Bragging about a date with another woman felt funny too. Andy was deeply into her boss, but there was no telling how it would work out, whether she and Miranda would really click, whether she and another woman . . .

"I'm glad Miranda realizes what a good girl is worth," Prescott Hamilton said, seriously. "She has a reputation for being unreasonable, and working her assistants to death."

"That reputation is entirely deserved," Andy joked, falling back on her pillow and crossing her long legs at the ankles. Prescott Hamilton laughed with her, a deep male laugh that gave her the sensation of being both special and protected.

"Get some sleep," the famous journalist suggested, after chatting about the Hamptons with her for a few totally relaxing minutes. "You want to be fresh for tomorrow."

"Good idea." Andy yawned, not caring if the noise carried over the phone. She felt she could unwind around Prescott. "Hey, how did you get my number?" she asked sleepily.

"Elias-Clarke publishes all my books," he told her, "and Irv is a good friend of mine. We used to go fishing in Florida with Ted Williams."

"Oh, of course." Andy sounded ever so casual on the phone, but she secretly made a WOW sound with her lips. Irv was only Miranda's boss. And Ted Williams . . . Ted Williams . . . well he was just the greatest baseball player who ever lived!

"Gee, Prescott, you must have collected an awful lot of baseball autographs over the years!" It was a lame joke, but the amazing older man laughed anyway.

"No one's called me Prescott since the Eisenhower administration, Andy. I'm Scott to my friends. Prescott just looks better on a book jacket. And speaking of books – and autographs – since you're heading to the Hamptons tomorrow you might be able to do me a little favor."


	4. The Lost Prince

_Chapter Four: The Lost Prince_

Andy Sachs was an optimist by nature, but she soon found that dating her employer made for some awkward moments. Everyone who knew her from Runway expected her to be meek, silent and invisible. Even relaxing in the Hamptons, people just assumed she was there to run errands, as though she were Miranda's assistant after hours as well.

And then there were the men. Andy knew she was a reasonably pretty girl – she had Miranda's word for that. And even Nigel, who was both more objective and in his own way much harder to please, said she wore her new clothes well. But apparently there was something about seeing even a _reasonably_ pretty young girl on the arm of a stunning older woman that brought out the inner sleaze in men of all ages.

Nobody dared mess with her when Miranda was around, of course. In Miranda Priestley's presence even Jack the Ripper would have been respectful. But between the sneers and knowing looks from the women, (who thought she was hired help) and the leers and knowing smiles from the men, (who were avidly picturing her and Miranda in bed together) gentle, sensitive, understanding Andy Sachs felt like going postal by the time her first Hamptons dinner party was over.

She didn't reach for a gun, of course. When Andy got angry she reached for something deep inside. Each time she was introduced to someone, she smiled and said something positive. But to make it stick she had to think positive thoughts about herself as well. (Well, she _was_ someone special, damn it.) Anyway, soon people were noticing her for something other than belonging to Miranda. They noticed _her._ And smiled back. And then while Miranda was busy, another woman told her how to find the ladies' room.

It was good to get away from the crowd, even for just a minute or two. When she was finished in the bathroom, Andy decided to sneak out to the garden for a quick breath of air. After all, Miranda was holding court splendidly and didn't need her assistant hovering at her side every second. She wasn't on the clock now, damn it. Later they could be alone.

Andy stopped short, sucking in wonder along with the cool night air. The beauty of the garden and the full moon shining on the silver waters of the Long Island sound took her breath away. This was what her slave job at Runway really meant, she decided. A chance to experience beauty in every form. And a chance to see how the other half lived. They lived well. How could anyone ever be unhappy in a place like this?

Just then the caring, dark-eyed beauty heard a choked sound of sobbing coming from behind a nearby rose bush. At first she thought it was a girl like her. But when she got up close she discovered it was actually a young man.

"Hey – is there anything the matter?" Andy felt like an intruder, clumsy and out of place. The slim, blonde-haired boy weeping alone looked elegant even in cut-off jeans. The moonlight silvered his pale features, made his tears glitter. He was like the lost prince in a fairy tale, or the shy, romantic vampires Miranda's little girls were always reading about.

"What?" the young man looked up, startled and confused. His big blue eyes were like twin sapphires. "Oh, hi. I didn't know anyone was here. Sorry to be making such a scene."

Andy smiled. "You're not making a scene," she said softly. "You're hiding in the dark. Is something wrong?"

He dried his tears, and gave her a brave little-boy smile that made her heart crack in two. "It's nothing. Really dumb stuff. I just got dumped by the most wonderful man in the world."


	5. No Secrets

_Chapter Five: No Secrets _

"Who was that young man kissing you in the garden?" Miranda asked pointedly, after Andy returned to the party.

"Oh, that!" Andy's cheeks flushed deep red, but she looked her employer in the eye. "That was Jamie Z. He's just going through some stuff. He was feeling low and I sort of talked him through it. I never even met him before tonight!"

"Yes, I'm sure kissing you gave the young man a lift." Miranda's eyes were cool gray lasers, probing for the truth.

"I'm not his type, Miranda." Andy blushed even hotter, but she couldn't say any more without betraying the sweet, sensitive boy who had just poured his heart out to her.

"I don't like secrets, Andrea." Gray eyes met brown, the whispered command both erotic and hypnotic. "No secrets."

"No secrets." Andy echoed the words, totally on autopilot. Her brain was foggy, yet she knew she couldn't tell Miranda everything. Jamie's dad would kill him if he ever found out about that tennis instructor. Andy tried to shake the spell and think, but when Miranda's lips met hers she simply melted. The needs of her body suddenly outweighed everything else.

The next morning – oh, but it was late morning, almost noon – Andy woke up in Miranda's bed with a sigh of satisfaction. Any doubts she might have had about her own sexual preferences had been pitifully pulverized by a night of Miranda's tender kisses and relentless skill. A knowing instructor, the older woman had awakened Andy to all the most intimate, most pleasurable secrets that her body held.

"Finally awake, Andrea?" Miranda was standing over the bed, perfectly dressed. "Get dressed. We're going to camp."

Andy knew, of course, that her employer supported any number of worthy causes. One of her favorite charities was a summer camp for needy children in the Hamptons. But what stunned the young girl into jaw-dropping fits was how her ice-lady boss behaved when they visited the camp in person.

It wasn't just that Miranda was nice to all the little kids who lined up to meet her. As the day wore on, they held her hand and climbed all over her and even sang songs in her honor. Things got loud. Things got messy. One little monster even got chocolate handprints all over her Bill Blass ruffled shirt.

It was kind of scary that Miranda was okay with all that.

But for Andy things got really scary when the two of them joined everyone for a big barbecue at the end of the day. The camp had a lot of prominent supporters, and Miranda wasn't the only celebrity on board. That wasn't so bad. Andy was actually getting used to meeting important people on an equal footing. But it was a little trickier getting used to the way Miranda's well-manicured hand rested lightly on the small of her back. Or the subtle but seductive way her elegant arm encircled Andrea's slender waist in public.

Why pull away? The two of them had slept together, after all. Was it really so strange that the older woman was sending romantic signals? Andy felt uncomfortable only because there was such a stigma attached to workplace relationships. To sleeping with the boss. And that naturally fed into her panicky reaction to Miranda's casual yet intimate closeness.

"You're like a skittish horse," Miranda whispered, when the two of them were shaking hands with the athletic staff.

"Sorry," Andy whispered back. "I'm not used to being the boss' plaything."

"Ah, Big Jim Zuglowski!" Miranda's poise was letter perfect, in spite of the heated conversation they'd just been having. "Andrea has been talking about you all weekend."

"I have? Oh, right, I have!" Andy's naughty slip only made the big, beefy, red-faced man laugh harder as he crushed her slim white hand in his meaty paw. "Seriously, Mr. Zuglowski, my grandfather was listening to the radio the day you hit that home run to win the World Series. I grew up hearing about how much beer he spilled on the sofa!"

"Well, next to the day my son was born, that was the happiest day of my life." The big man pulled his son forward, one huge arm thrown around his slender shoulders. "Andrea, Ms. Priestley, this is my son Jamie. He's on the staff here too."

"Right, we've met." Andy offered her hand, wondering why slim, gorgeous Jamie was looking so gloomy and scared. She wasn't about to tease him about liking boys in front of his father!

"And this is our new tennis coordinator, Lars Lundquist."

"Tennis coordinator?" Miranda purred, shaking the young man's hand. "He looks more like a bodybuilder."

"Darn right," Big Jim said happily. "My son's been working out with him since April. Keeps him away from those books!"

Andy figured it out right away. Jamie had just been dumped by the man his father was counting on to make him into a real man. It wasn't _her_ problem. It wasn't even her business!

But Jamie looked so unhappy. And when she smiled at him, her innocent brown eyes shining with sympathy, Andy could feel Miranda's arm tighten ever so slightly around her waist.


	6. Poker Night

_Chapter Six: Poker Night_

"Andy, this doesn't make sense." Prescott Hamilton said. "You've got a job a million girls would kill for. You meet interesting people, you wear fabulous clothes, and your boss is crazy about you. And you want to throw all that away so you can drive around with me all summer listening to old men talk about baseball?" The tall, silver-haired journalist gave her a wise, almost fatherly look. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd be seriously tempted to get the wrong idea."

"If I weren't already in a relationship – with someone just about your age, I might add – it wouldn't be the wrong idea." Andy Sachs flashed her most devilish smile as she laid her cards down on the table. "Two pairs. Aces and eights."

Prescott laughed, knowing that sweet, sensitive Andy was a born poker player, in spite of her gentle personality. "All right, you win again. Do you really want this internship?"

"I do," the dark-eyed beauty said softly. "But not for me. You see, there's this boy I know, Jamie. He really needs to get away for the summer because . . ."

As Andy told the story, she tried to leave Jamie's sex life out of it. Men of a certain generation didn't always understand about such things. Even super cool Prescott might not get it.

"Oh, no, Sachs, you're not putting that one over on me." Prescott dealt the cards again. "I know who you're talking about. Jamie Zuglowski. His father's a real jerk. I've been trying to interview Big Jim for years, but he keeps giving me the cold shoulder."

"Why?"

"Why do I want to interview him?"

Andy rolled her eyes. "I know why you want to interview him! He's like a total legend for hitting that home run back in 1950 or 1960 or whenever. Why is he playing hard to get?"

"He's not playing," Prescott said gloomily. "That hard-nosed S.O.B. really hates me – and it's not even about baseball!" The Pulitzer Prize winning journalist studied his cards, a stern frown creasing his distinguished, aristocratic features.

"What's it about, then?" Andy was always absolutely fascinated by Prescott's stories of sports and politics. Poker at his apartment on Friday nights was her one escape from Miranda and the world of fashion. She could stop being Andrea in the four-inch heels and go back to being plain old Andy again. It was like her girly side got time off.

Yet at the same time it _wasn't_ like that at all. Distinguished, sophisticated Prescott Hamilton made her feel very much like a girl, even when she was lounging around in jeans. Right now the two of them were playing poker and listening to Miles Davis, and it was very casual. Yet the atmosphere was hushed, intimate. As seductive as a candlelight dinner.

" . . . and Big Jim served with the guy in Korea. So when I wrote about the blind loyalty of a certain generation of American men, he took it personally. And all because I did my job as a journalist, and exposed the real truth about General Huntley Mannering."

"Huntley Mannering?" Andy woke up from a truly weird daydream that somehow involved simultaneous sex with Prescott Hamilton and Miranda Priestley. "Wait a minute, I think I know that name. There's a Mrs. Huntley Mannering, isn't there?"

"His widow," Prescott confirmed. "Rich, reclusive. Very high society. Hates me, of course. Society women and ball players are a lot alike, you know. Loyalty means everything."

"I think she's a pretty good friend of Miranda's, actually." Bemused, Andy studied her cards, remembering how Miranda had actually been planning to profile the wealthy widow in the pages of Runway.

Prescott shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me. They're rich, powerful, incredibly cold women."

"Huh!" Andy slapped down her cards. "Three sevens, buster. Shut up and play poker!"

"Full house." Prescott grinned. "Your loyalty is showing, kid."

Andy pouted. "Miranda's not cold, once you get to know her. And I'll bet Mrs. Mannering isn't so bad either." Suddenly she had an idea. "What if I could get you and the general's widow together? I mean, for an interview. It'd be good money, and besides, it would show that she's forgiven you for whatever you wrote about her husband years ago. And if you can get her into bed, Big Jim will have to come across!"

Prescott laughed, his gray eyes twinkling as he studied the eager face of the innocent, bright-eyed beauty. "All right, _Andrea_. I'll play along. An interview with old man Zuglowski would truly cap my sports-writing career." He pointed to all the baseball photographs and trophies lining his incredibly expensive Upper East Side apartment. "But if I don't get Big Jim, Jamie doesn't ride with me this summer. You do."

"Deal." Andy looked the older man in the eye. "Just don't get the wrong idea. I'm your guy, but I'm still Miranda's girl."

"Shut up and play poker," growled Prescott Hamilton.


	7. Willing To Learn

_Chapter Seven: Willing To Learn_

"A chance to learn more about baseball? But that's horrible!" Jamie Zuglowski's baby-blue eyes went wide with horror. "Andrea, how could you do this to me? Baseball is the one thing on earth I _don't_ want to learn more about!"

"You've got a lot of nerve, buster," Andy said furiously. The two of them were hanging out in a trendy bar on the Upper West Side, not far from Columbia University. "Why don't you go back to school, if you're not interested in working?"

The beautiful blonde boy pouted. "I hate school," he sulked. "It's all giant lecture halls and professors so far away they have to use a megaphone to tell you how lucky you are to be there. And when you get up close, all they want to do is invite you to the Gay Pride rally . . . and maybe cop a feel." Suddenly his blue eyes widened with excitement. "Hey, Andy, is there any chance you could get me a job at Runway? I'd be just great at it, I know!"

"No chance in hell," Andy growled. "Any guy in his right mind would kill for the chance I just offered you. A chance to intern with Prescott Hamilton – he's only the greatest political journalist in America. And a legendary sports writer to boot!"

"Well, kiss the moon," Jamie sulked. "And anyway, if it's such a great opportunity, why don't you take it? I'll bet Prescott Hamilton is totally nuts about you. You're exactly the type older men go for, Andy. You have that innocent, little girl quality that really drives them crazy!"

"I already have a job," Andy said, a little defensively. The truth was she was afraid Miranda would be jealous if she spent more time with Prescott. There was an attraction there that the dark-eyed young beauty couldn't quite deal with yet.

Still, when she dropped the whole mess in Miranda's lap, confessing everything just before climbing into bed with her later that night, the older woman proved surprisingly reasonable.

"You see, Andrea, this is what happens when you try to be nice to people." Miranda's tone was cool and formal, as if they were back at the Runway office. But they weren't at work. They were alone together, and Miranda was in bed. And she pulled down the sheets invitingly, the intimate gesture making Andy's knees turn to jelly. "Can you promise me that you'll avoid making that mistake in the future?"

"No, I can't. I'm a hopeless softy, and you know it." Andy wasn't afraid to defy her boss. She knew that Miranda was only teasing her. The wise older woman's gray eyes twinkled with amusement as her eager young lover slipped into bed beside her.

"Of course you are, dearest. But you don't need to make it so obvious. What was Jamie doing when you first met him?"

"Uh . . . he was crying his eyes out?" Andy didn't quite understand where Miranda was going with this. But she was very aware of the older woman's nearness, and her perfume. The light, floral scent made it hard for her to think.

"Exactly!" The older woman turned out the light, sliding close and letting her cool soft hands explore Andrea's slim young body. "What Jamie was really doing was manipulating you, Andrea. He turns on the tears, and you run to help. And now that he knows it works, he'll do it again and again."

"Again and again," Andy whispered. Miranda's hands felt so good sliding over her firm young breasts. It aroused her and soothed her at the same time. "So . . . you think helping Jamie is just a waste of time?"

"I think the young man needs a lesson," Miranda purred, enjoying the way Andy's nipples stiffened under her stroking fingers. "And I think I know just the person to give it to him. How would you like to take your new pet with you when you do your first interview for Runway magazine?"

"Miranda! But I don't – I'm not – are you sure I'm ready?"

"I'm sure you're willing to learn," the older woman chuckled. Miranda's hands moved lower, deeper, caressing her young lover intimately, while her tongue replaced her stroking fingers.

"I am _sooo_ willing to learn." Andy closed her eyes and surrendered gratefully to Miranda's touch, allowing the older woman to sweep away all her doubts and fears.


	8. Three's A Crowd

_Chapter Eight: Three's A Crowd_

"See, what my father never figured out is that there's no _cure _for being gay. That's why my teenage years were so tough. No matter how many ground balls I caught in the daytime, at night I still wanted to wear makeup and pick up boys!"

"Oh, my." Mrs. Huntley Mannering was listening to Jamie's story with breathless interest. The elegantly attired widow blushed slightly as she poured more tea for her two visitors. "You must forgive me, Mr. Zuglowski. It's been so long since I had such an attractive gentleman caller!" The elderly widow paused, and then gave Andy Sachs a polite but rather distant smile. "Two such attractive callers, I meant to say."

"Thanks." Andy smiled back, but inwardly she was steaming. This was supposed to be her interview, damn it! Jamie was only along for the ride. Once again, the dark-eyed beauty felt that she was letting her employer down. Miranda was counting on her to get this story no matter what the cost.

"Andy isn't just beautiful, Mrs. Mannering," Jamie said smoothly. "She's an incredibly talented journalist! She's being mentored by Prescott Hamilton, as well as by her boss Miranda Priestley."

Mrs. Mannering frowned. "Miranda is a lovely woman, but Prescott Hamilton is a worthless traitor and a no-account liar. If you children only knew what he wrote about my husband during the war!" When she was angry, the striking aristocratic widow's southern accent grew more pronounced. "War" came out as "waw-uh."

Andy gulped. This was her cue. "Mrs. Mannering, I think Prescott Hamilton has changed a lot since he was a young reporter covering the Vietnam War forty years ago."

"Some things don't change," the old woman muttered. "My husband General Mannering was a gentleman and a patriot, but that man called him a liar and a butcher."

"Really?" Andy was shocked. She had learned in school that the Vietnam War divided the country. Evidently it had also brought out the worst in everyone. But Prescott had always been such a thoughtful man, so kind and gentle. It was hard to believe he could ever have been deliberately cruel.

"You know, I can sort of understand where Prescott Hamilton was coming from," Jamie put in, to the shock of both women. "What I mean is, I know from personal experience that when you're gay, and in the closet, you have a need to ridicule anyone who might be a little more comfortable with their sexuality than you are. Your husband was a real leader, very sure of himself, very masculine. And I think a lot of his critics on the anti-war Left felt threatened by that. When they called your husband those awful names they were probably just fighting secret feelings of inadequacy. Or attraction."

"Jamie, that is such . . . such utter . . ." Andy was at a loss for words. She knew that Jamie was just trying to help. But she was absolutely appalled by the way he spun the truth!

"I'll give you your interview, my dear, never fear," Mrs. Mannering said, giving Andy a look that made her feel about two inches tall. "But first, I think Jamie might like to see my husband's West Point scrap book. Did you know that the General played center field on the Academy team?"

"I'll bet he was a lot better than I was at shoveling down balls," Jamie said, with a straight face. Andy nearly choked on her tea. "But Mrs. M, I promised to rake the lawn for you, remember? I should really do that while Andy . . ."

"Perhaps Miss Sachs wouldn't mind pitch-hitting for you," the Widow Mannering suggested, with a twinkle in her eye. "Miranda tells me you're one of those liberated females, my dear. I'm sure you can do any chore as well as the boys."

"Rake the lawn, got it." Andy flashed her most dazzling smile, and ignored the roiling anger in her gut. It was so obvious what Jamie Zuglowski was doing! Stealing her story, making fun of Prescott Hamilton, and charming the pants right off of a lonely old woman who probably thought she could get him right back on the road to heterosexual sex.

It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all!

Outside, it was a crisp fall day. Manhattan was still sticky and sultry, but autumn came early to the high country in western Massachusetts. Andy raked with brisk energy, just the way she did all her work. She wasn't going to slack off just because life was unfair. But it really was quite chilly.

Jamie had been out here for about fifteen minutes earlier in the day. On a nearby bush Andy spotted his baseball jacket, which was actually a priceless heirloom from his father's playing days. The long-legged beauty slipped it on, reflecting wryly that she probably looked about as much like a real big-league ballplayer as Jamie Zuglowski did. When she put on his baseball cap to keep the long dark-brown hair from tumbling into her eyes she felt even more like a boy!

Raking away on the huge manicured lawn, Andy soon got into the rhythm of her work. She was drifting closer and closer to the dark forest, not noticing how far she was from the widow's stately colonial mansion.

Suddenly a pair of hands reached out and grabbed her!


	9. Extreme Measures

_Chapter Nine: Extreme Measures_

"Ah, there she is." Miranda Priestley's cool gray eyes came alive with pleasure as the tall, dark-haired young woman stumbled into the room.

"Miranda? Oh, this is just unreal!" Disheveled and breathless, Andy Sachs was still trying to piece together what had happened to her. One moment she was raking leaves and the next she was standing in the living room of Miranda's Manhattan townhouse. "What was the idea of having Roy snatch me like that? I thought I was being kidnapped . . . or worse!"

"Calm yourself, Andrea. I've decided to give you another assignment, that's all. Come sit down and I'll tell you all about it." Miranda patted the space beside her on the soft gray sofa, an elegant gesture that was definitely a command.

"You're not mad at me for helping Prescott Hamilton get closer to Mrs. Mannering, are you?" Andy blushed as she sat down beside her boss, embarrassed by her flop interview with the wealthy widow. She hadn't even gotten to first base!

"Not everything is about you, Andrea. Though I'm sure this new assignment will cure your schoolgirl crush on 'the Dean of American Sportswriters.'" Miranda put quotes around the words with her soft, sexy voice. Her alert gray eyes swept over her assistant's attire, taking in every spot and stain. "I hope you weren't planning to be seen by my side in public wearing that filthy baseball jacket and those dreadful jeans."

"Sorry, Miranda." Andy squirmed on the sofa, realizing that her grubby get-up made her look more like Bart Simpson or Dennis the Menace than Keira Knightley or Holly Golightly.

"Such high hopes I had for you, Andrea." Miranda's soft sigh was sad and regretful, but there was a gleam in her eye as she lifted the baseball cap from Andy's head. "Is this vulgar descent into Little League chic all you've learned from me?" She took the cap in two fingers and tossed it into a corner.

"No." Andy squeezed her eyes shut, horribly embarrassed. She felt like an abject failure. But Miranda's touch lingered, smoothing her dark hair. Caressing her flushed face.

"All I ever wanted was to teach you the rudiments of fashion, so that you might present yourself in a moderately professional manner." Miranda's voice was soft and soothing, yet still held a chilly note of disdainful disapproval. Her fingers were busy unbuttoning Andrea's baseball jacket. "I've groomed you, mentored you, civilized you in every way I know how, and yet the moment my back is turned you revert to your natural state of unwashed, scruffy barbarism. I cannot have this, Andrea. Extreme measures are called for."

"Yes, Miranda." Andy was confused. There was ice in Miranda's voice, yet her fingers traced patterns of heat wherever they touched. The boyish baseball jacket fell from her shoulders. "What . . . what are you going to do to me?"

"Put you into a hot bath, of course. Shampoo your hair, massage you with perfumed oils, and then make love to you for hours. By the time I'm finished you'll feel like a woman. And dress like one too."

"That's . . . that's really great," Andy croaked, her slim shoulders slumping as a wave of relief washed over her. Then she looked up, her large dark eyes excited but wary. "But what about my new assignment?"

"Santa Dorina," Miranda replied.

"Santa Dorina?" Andy wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. Was Santa Dorina a designer or a photographer? Maybe it was a street in Paris or boutique in Milan. The idea of a trip with Miranda made her nervous, knowing she would be responsible for the older woman's itinerary. But when she opened her mouth to get the details Miranda kissed her.

And after that neither of them spoke at all.


	10. So Unreal

_Chapter Ten: So Unreal_

For a girl seeking travel and adventure, nothing in the world is quite as thrilling as the moment of takeoff. Yet as the jet left the ground all Andy Sachs got was a sinking feeling.

It wasn't that she objected to spending a weekend in the Caribbean with Miranda Priestley. Though the silver-haired woman sitting beside her was not the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, Andy knew her boss was crazy about her. Taking time off from Runway went against every one of Miranda's instincts. So this was truly a romantic gesture.

"Andrea, did you remember to tell Irv . . ."

"He knows the meeting Monday will be at 11, not at 10. And I called Patrick to let him know we're going with the outdoor location on Monday afternoon, the one with the fountains. And I've got all your other appointments changed so there won't be the slightest hitch." Andy couldn't help smiling. "I do want to thank you for this trip, Miranda," she added softly. "I'm very excited and I'm eager to please you in every way!"

"Please." Miranda's voice was scornful, though her cool gray eyes flickered as she gave Andrea a long, slow look from head to toe. "I'm entitled to reward you now and then. After all, Andrea, you work for me. Not for Mr. Prescott Hamilton."

"Yes, Miranda." Andy slumped in her seat, feeling defeated as well as exhausted. It wasn't that Miranda was jealous. Deep down Andy got a thrill just imagining the burning passion under that glacial exterior. But still, the dark-eyed beauty sighed as she wearily picked up her travel guide. She'd failed Prescott. She'd failed to get the big story. Maybe she just wasn't ready for the big time.

Santa Dorina was a lot like Miranda Priestley. Though outwardly glamorous, it was an island that had seen plenty of hard times . . . and come out more beautiful than ever. Andy relaxed in her seat, reading about the days of pirates and plantations, and wondering what sort of person she would have been in those far-off days. Yawning, she decided that she probably would have been someone dull. Ordinary. A minister's daughter, hiding her pretty white face under a parasol. Or a meek little mulatto housemaid, totally unaware of her own unique, brown-skinned beauty. Scurrying to please the rich white folks who _owned_ her body and soul.

Miranda would have been a pirate. Andy closed her eyes, picturing herself taken captive on the high seas. Of course she would beg, and shed lots of tears. Her big brown eyes would be _overflowing_. But Miranda would show no mercy . . .

"Wake up, Andrea. Andrea! We'll be landing within minutes."

"What? Landing? Are we in Santa Dorina?" Andy sat up stretching and yawning. "Sorry, I just dozed off for a minute."

Miranda's gray eyes were amused. "It was closer to three and a half hours, Andrea, but no matter. In spite of your zombie-like stupor we have arrived safely in Santa Dorina. I've already contacted the necessary people and made all the calls you should have made."

"I'm very sorry, Miranda." Andy blushed at the image of herself crashed out uselessly while Miranda took care of her. Talk about role reversal! It was so unreal that Andy just couldn't wrap her head around it.

And the weekend was just starting!

_A/N: I am flattered and honored to say that nearly thirty people are following this story. Yet somehow we never get more than one new review per chapter. It's so confusing to me, why everyone loves this story enough to follow but not to review it! Still I have hope – God, I live on it. So if you are enjoying __Damsels and Dragons__, please review! That's all._


	11. Mutual Attraction

DAMSELS AND DRAGONS

_Chapter Eleven: Mutual Attraction _

"Miranda, you won't believe this! Jamie and Mrs. Mannering . . . I just can't believe it!" Andy Sachs came storming out onto the terrace wearing nothing but her frilly lace undies, her bouncy boobs half-hidden by one of Miranda's white shirts. Though normally very sensitive to her surroundings, the beautiful young woman took no notice of the blue ocean, the golden sunlight, or the lush tropical beauty of Santa Dorina.

"Sit down and start from the beginning," Miranda said softly, her alert gray eyes taking in her youthful assistant's tousled hair and sleepy brown eyes. "But first have something to eat, Andrea. I'm used to the demands of a working vacation. But you can't keep up without food . . . or sleep."

"Thank you, Miranda." Andy's pale cheeks flushed crimson as she helped herself to fresh fruit and coffee. Her chic, elegant boss didn't look nearly as tired as she felt. The two of them had been up till 2 AM the night before, working on the latest issue of Runway even though they were supposed to be enjoying a romantic Caribbean vacation. Andy was happy just to be with Miranda. But she couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed, for it really was a _working_ vacation.

Of course, there were romantic moments, like when Miranda began making love to her late last night. Andy had no idea how it started. One moment Miranda was leaning over to close her laptop, kissing her gently. But then Andy began kissing back. And she just lost control. Panting and wiggling. Pleased by her innocent young lover's eager response, Miranda began moving lower, slowly kissing her neck, her throat, her shoulder. And then she moved lower still . . .

Andy didn't remember much after that. She didn't _want_ to remember much. It was too embarrassing, how she'd just gone over the top like that. Afterwards she slept, feeling drained. Spent. But Miranda went right back to work. It wasn't that Andy didn't admire the older woman's work ethic. But she wanted to be helpful, useful, like an equal partner. And after the sex, she would have liked to cuddle . . .

"Maybe I'm just not strong enough," the dark-eyed girl said, speaking her thoughts aloud.

"Be specific, Andrea," Miranda commanded, putting down her coffee cup. "Are you talking about us? Or about your young friend Jamie?"

"I guess I'm talking about both," Andy admitted. "You always seem to be in control, even when . . . even when I'm not. You always know what I want even more than I do. But when I'm dealing with other people . . . I never know who they really are. Or what they really want."

Miranda sighed. "Jamie stabbed you in the back, I take it. Did he go behind your back to get the story?"

"Yeah, he did," Andy muttered. "But it's not just that. He went to bed with her too. And I know it was just for the story, because Jamie is . . . at least he _pretends_ to be . . . Miranda, I just don't get it. How can people be like that? Is it really worth it to give up that part of yourself, just to get ahead?"

"Everyone wants what we want, Andrea," the older woman said wisely. "But not everyone has what we have."

"You know, I think I get it." Andy leaned over to kiss Miranda, the light pressure of their lips igniting mutual attraction.


	12. A Very Important Woman

DAMSELS AND DRAGONS

_Chapter Twelve: A Very Important Woman _

Miranda's kiss made Andy forget all about Jamie. And his dirty double-cross. But then, it also made her forget Runway, her future, and everything else. So it was quite a shock when her unpredictable ice-queen boss suddenly ended the kiss. Miranda looked utterly composed. Untouched by passion. Her voice was soft and cool. Her eyes were clear and bright. _But she's not there__,_ Andy thought.

"Shower and dress, Andrea. A limousine will be here shortly. Madame President is anxious to show us the island."

_Madame President!_ Andy jumped into a cold shower at once. She was anxious to wash away her sleepiness, and the ridiculous feeling of _disappointment_ that her boss hadn't just taken her back to bed. Miranda Priestley was a very important woman. Just like the President of Santa Dorina!

"Ah, Miranda! How good of you to come!" As the two women kissed inside the air-conditioned limousine, Andy had an opportunity to observe Madame President closely. Maria Theresa Mirabeau was a short, plump woman in a chocolate Chanel suit, with an olive complexion and curly black hair. Nowhere near as poised and attractive as Miranda, Andy thought. But she had a confident manner and a warm smile.

"Now tell me, Miranda, who is this charming young lady? Dressed in the very latest fashions, of course!" The powerful Caribbean leader's twinkling black eyes lit up with obvious pleasure as she took in Andy's simple floral print dress. Though designed in Milan, her flowery get-up felt tropical, natural, like something a real island girl would wear.

"Andrea is my assistant, Maria," Miranda said quietly. "She's smart and efficient, and also very important to me personally. _Very_ important." Though her voice was soft, the steely glint in Miranda's gray eyes made her meaning plain.

"Ah, I see! Icy Miranda has surrendered at last to love!" The President of Santa Dorina threw back her head and laughed. It was a loud and lusty laugh that made her shake all over. Madame Mirabeau was a powerful leader, but clearly very down-to-earth. Watching her bosom jiggle and her jewelry jingle, Andy began laughing too. Even Miranda joined in.

"Do not worry, Andrea," the dark-skinned woman finally said, dabbing her moist eyes with a huge perfumed handkerchief. "On this island, you and Miranda will be treated as royalty."

"Please, Madame President. My name is Andy. I mean, that's what everyone calls me. Well, almost everyone." Andy shot a shy look at her boss. The two of them shared a smile.

"Then I shall call you Andy too. And now, Andy and Miranda, allow me to show you the beautiful island of Santa Dorina!"

Andy was expecting the president to show off the island's famed natural beauty, the white sand beaches and the crystal waterfalls. Instead they had a very thorough tour of all the new factories and schools Madame President was building. Everywhere they went, cheering crowds swarmed all over the presidential motorcade. It was crazy, so intense, but all that noise and commotion just made Maria Theresa laugh and wave back. It was obvious that she was a very popular leader. Runway magazine would do a great story on her country. And that would bring even more visitors to the island, Andy thought, yawning at the end of the long tour.

"Ah, this was a busy day for Miranda's charming assistant," Madame President teased, her shrewd black eyes resting on the tiny but very expensive digital camera in Andy's lap. "I hope you took many beautiful pictures for your magazine!"

"I took a few." Andy felt rather defensive. The long limousine came to a smooth halt in front of the luxurious five-star hotel.

"Andrea." Miranda's soft voice made the younger woman look up at once. "Maria has been very generous with her time today. Remember, she is a very important woman."

Andy's deep red flush went right to the roots of her lustrous dark hair. She knew that Miranda was talking about herself just as much as the other powerful woman sitting beside her. "Madame President, I am very sorry."

"Sorry for what? Dear child, we had a lovely time! Now why not go up to your room and relax for an hour or two? Miranda and I will see you at dinner."

Andy quickly pasted on her best smile, crushing out the tiny spark of annoyance at being bossed around and treated like a child. "Okay, I guess I can call New York and take care of a few things. Is there anything you need me to do, Miranda?"

The editor of Runway nodded, looking very crisp and professional. Yet her gray eyes held a rather knowing smile. "Yes there is, Andrea. I want a small side article on the hotel. Particularly the spa treatments, the massage and sauna. I expect you to do all of the research personally. That's all."

_A/N: Cyber hugs for all who review – especially if you spot the hidden quote from the haunting British Invasion classic!_


	13. Sheer Spectacle

_Chapter Thirteen: Sheer Spectacle_

"Miranda, are you sure Madame Mirabeau's new government is really making things better on the island?" Andy's face was worried as she began dressing for dinner. "Some of the people I've seen didn't look so happy."

"What on earth can you be talking about, Andrea?" Seated on the bed, the strikingly attractive older woman watched with amusement as her beautiful young assistant hesitated over which bracelet to wear, then shrugged and slid both of them over her slender wrist.

"Well, it's just that when I was resting on the massage table this afternoon, one of the girls was bending over me, and I saw bruises down below the neckline of her dress. And when I went to thank her, after I woke up from my nap, I touched her on the arm and she sort of winced. Like someone's been hitting her!" Andy's big brown eyes were full of concern.

"Please." Miranda rolled her eyes, wishing her passionate, excitable young assistant didn't have such a vivid imagination. Still in her filmy white undergarments, Andy was standing before her like a sacrificial offering in a pagan temple. The sight awakened aching need and dark desire. "Can you show me exactly where you saw these phantom bruises, Andrea?"

"Well, it was down around here, I think." All innocent and unaware, Andy pointed to the spot on her own milk-white flesh. Somehow Miranda always caught her off guard. Her knowing touch excited the younger woman, and made her more aware of her own body than she expected. In a moment the older woman was kissing the spot Andy had innocently pointed to, just above her own breast. Then the cunning older woman was licking the same spot. Then Miranda moved lower, suckling like a baby, till her tongue encircled the tightening peaks of Andy's rising desire.

That night, Andy and Miranda were guests of honor at Madame Mirabeau's table in the grand showroom of the resort hotel. It was a bit lonesome for Andy, since Miranda and Madame had a lot of catching up to do. The two of them had known each other in Paris when Miranda was a chic young thing just starting out. It was ridiculous to read anything into it, really. Andy had the most wonderful relaxed feeling after the way Miranda had seduced her in the hotel suite. Afterglow, they called it. A languid mixture of sleepiness and satiated desire. Still, watching the two older women whisper and laugh together gave the slim, dark-eyed beauty a jealous feeling. After a moment she looked away.

There was a pageant on the main stage, the type of shallow, glitzy spectacle one always saw in Las Vegas and similar places. Andy privately thought the whole thing a bit over the top, a bit superficial and extravagant. But it was certainly entertaining. A troupe of female dancers in high head-dresses and gaudy costumes were acting out the entire history of Santa Dorina Island, from the arrival of Christopher Columbus right up until the present day.

"Would mam'selle care for another drink?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you." Andy was a bit startled because the dark-skinned girl serving drinks was dressed exactly like one of the native girls up on the stage. Her heavy, rounded breasts were perfectly formed, with no marks or bruises. While she sipped island rum from a cocoanut shell, Andy couldn't help wondering what sort of life this girl led. Was she well paid? Did she have opportunities for education and advancement? How much of Madame's prosperity trickled down to people like the smiling waitress who refilled her shell, or the lithe, exquisitely formed female dancers on the stage?

"Are you enjoying the show, Miss Andrea?" Madame President called, from the far end of the table.

"Yes, madame. It's a wonderful tribute to the island's propserity - I mean _prosperity!"_

The plump female president giggled, very pleased. But Miranda knew Andy better and read her mood.

"Even the most successful woman needs a place to unwind, Andrea," her employer scolded gently.

"Of course, Miranda." Andy felt a twinge of guilt. Here she was, enjoying a free vacation at Miranda's expense, and not even taking in the sheer spectacle unfolding right before her eyes. Whole troops of dancing girls were shimmying on the stage, their voluptuous female forms merging and melting together into one big blur. When she closed her eyes, Andy could picture herself as a conquering Spaniard from long ago, coming ashore to the rapturous welcome of naked island beauties. Or perhaps Miranda would be the conquistador, and she would be the willing and eager tropical beauty. Willing . . . eager . . .

"Someone's had enough of our island's history," Madame President murmured, in an amused tone of voice. The plump, powerful island leader clapped her hands, and a bevy of female attendants appeared as if by magic. "Take the young lady to her room, please. To her bed. And come right back!"

"Yes, Miranda" Andy echoed. She thought she was back at the Runway office, taking orders as usual. Instead she was being carried off to bed by four beautiful young women with smiles on their faces.


	14. Wide Awake, Got It!

_Chapter Fourteen: Wide Awake_

The next morning, the harsh chatter of the helicopter rotors seemed to reverberate deep inside Andy's pounding head. Shutting her eyes seemed to help, if only just a tiny bit.

"And there you see the north shore," Madame Mirabeau shouted over the rotor noise, pointing with a short pudgy finger at the lush green coastline. "Ripe for development! Millions to be made! And imagine the glamorous possibilities for your magazine, Miranda!"

"A new Riviera," Miranda mused, her gray eyes fixed on the far horizon. The elegant, silver-haired fashion editor turned to her young companion. "What do you think, Andrea?"

"There are people down there." Andy's queasiness didn't get any better when she opened her eyes and looked down. She was wedged in between Miranda and the pudgy female president of the small Caribbean island nation, and hardly in any danger of falling. But a woozy feeling came over her when she looked down. Shacks and tents sprawled everywhere, with ragged-looking children picking through mounds of refuse.

"Nothing to worry about," Madame Mirabeau cried, in her hearty voice, giving Andy's knee a friendly squeeze. "Those people will soon be relocated to camps in the interior. Come, let's get our young miss back to the hotel for breakfast."

"Breakfast, right!" Andy forced a smile, hoping she didn't look as sick as she felt. Her stomach lurched as the sleek helicopter made a steep turn and headed back to the hotel.

Something was rotten in Santa Dorina.

"I'm not going crazy, am I Miranda? You've noticed it too?" Andy's brown eyes were wide and imploring as she followed Miranda into her luxurious hotel suite after breakfast. "Here at the hotel, everything is perfect. And the tours we go on, they show off the good side of the island. But whenever you look a little bit closer . . ." Andy shrugged, and sat down heavily on the older woman's bed. "It's a different world."

"You've been trying to tell me that since we landed," Miranda said gently, studying her young companion's pale face and drooping shoulders. "You've always had good instincts, Andrea. That's why I brought you along." The older woman poured a tall glass of iced water from the pitcher by the bed.

"What's that for?" Andrea frowned at the light blue pill which Miranda handed her along with the glass of water.

"For your headache – and your hangover. You did overdo things a bit last night, Andrea."

"Yeah, I guess so. Crazy!" Andy thirstily gulped the water, swallowing the pill along with it. She wanted to be at her best to keep up with Miranda. "So what do we do now? Do we call off the feature on how great the island is coming along?"

Miranda shook her head. "What we do now is to investigate further. I've already arranged for a private driver to take me into the interior. His jeep is waiting for me right now. I want to see what the island looks like through my own eyes."

"Miranda, are you sure that's a good idea?" Andy's worried voice sounded fuzzy to her own ears. "We have to be careful . . . dangerous . . . worried about you . . ."

"I'll do the worrying for both of us, Andrea, if you don't mind." With a gentle shove, Miranda pushed her assistant back against the lace-trimmed pillows, then carefully placed the water glass back on the bedside table. "Now while I'm visiting the interior, I want you to stay here and relax. I'll need you wide awake when we fly back to New York. Is that understood, Andrea?"

"Wide awake, got it." Andy was smiling as she fell asleep. She knew now that everything would be okay. Miranda was finally starting to see the things that mattered.


	15. Men In Black

_Chapter Fifteen: Men In Black  
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Andy woke up in Miranda's bed, stretching and yawning with a sigh of contentment. Even though she still felt a little woozy from the light blue pill Miranda had given her that morning, she knew the long rest had done her good. Her Caribbean vacation was almost over, and in just a few days more she would be back in New York!

Late afternoon sunlight peeped through the diaphanous curtains of the hotel suite, reminding the dark-eyed young woman that she had slept through most of the day. She rose and began to dress, in nothing more elaborate than a bathing suit and a robe, her movements slow and languid. Miranda had looked very determined when she left to investigate the island's secrets. Was Santa Dorina really a tropical paradise? Or were the island's poor being displaced and marginalized by Madame Mirabeau's modernization campaign? Andy shrugged, not certain to be glad or sorry that her own intuitions had awakened Miranda's concerns. There was sure to be a lot of arguing on both sides, since the lady president of the island and the legendary fashion editor were close friends. Andy felt a little dazed at the thought of being caught in the middle. Maybe she should get in a swim now, before the clamor and bustle of controversy began!

Certainly the hotel's lavish outdoor pool appeared tranquil enough. As she dipped a perfectly pedicured toe into the water, Andy was lazily aware of the surreptitious sideways looks and openly admiring stares of several of the hotel guests. Of course there were the obvious hungry looks of the teenage boys, and the more circumspect admiration of wealthy, older men with balding heads and bulging bellies. But Andy also sensed the admiring stares of girls her own age. And even the bored, bejeweled, well-kept older women working on their tans all seemed to be turning over on their beach chairs or lifting up their sunglasses or lowering their glossy magazines to look at her. It was as though she had been dipped in some enticing perfume; all of a sudden both sexes found her equally attractive.

Andy slipped into the pool and began swimming laps, her body waking up gradually under the water's cool caress. It seemed to her that all her senses had become more sensitive during her time alone with Miranda. The swish and sigh of the cool water over and under her thighs reminded her of her silver-haired lover's knowing touch. The more she swam the more she felt as though she were really lying between silken sheets and letting Miranda sweep her out to sea.

Finally the slim, dark-haired girl climbed dripping from the water, reaching blindly for the beach towel that a smiling uniformed attendant handed her at once. Andy was just shaking the water out of her ears like a puppy dog when she spied two men in dark suits and designer sunglasses approaching her. One was black and one was white but in every other way they could have been twins. Men In Black Part Four, she thought, smiling.

"Mademoiselle Andrea, my name is Mark Benton and this is Pierre DuMont. We are attached to Madame's security detail at the Presidential Palace. President Mirabeau has asked us to escort you to the palace at once."

"To the palace? But why?" Andy's brown eyes were huge in her pale face. Then she scowled. "I can't go anywhere without the permission of my employer, Miranda Priestley. You know who she is." It wasn't a question.

"Madame Mirabeau has the deepest respect for your employer. And she will discuss everything with you in her private briefing room. But right now we must hurry, Mademoiselle. The presidential limousine is waiting. And it appears that your employer, and our president's oldest and most beloved friend, has been kidnapped."


	16. Bring In The Press!

_Chapter Sixteen: Bring in the Press!_

Madame Mirabeau's Presidential Palace was buzzing with activity as Andrea's limousine pulled in at the side gate. Security troops were running in and out while news vans with tall antennae and satellite dishes from several major networks were already setting up for location broadcasting.

The kidnapping of Miranda Priestley was a major news event.

"Ah! There she is, poor little one. Andrea, darling, how are you holding up? I promise we will get to the bottom of this . . . this despicable deed!" The short, plump, female president hurried forward with open arms, enfolding the slender young woman in a fierce hug while kissing her soundly on both cheeks.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on?" Andrea could see that everyone in the president's private briefing room fully expected her to fall apart, dissolve into tears and behave like a blubbering basket case. But that wasn't the kind of behavior Miranda expected. The editor-in-chief of Runway magazine had brought her to the island of Santa Dorina for an intimate weekend, but she was also here to work. And she was going to keep on working even if her demanding, determined, insanely attractive boss was already being tortured by terrorists . . . or lying in the jungle helpless . . . or even dying . . .

"There, there," Madame soothed, in her husky voice, as Andy began sobbing in spite of all her firm resolutions. The plump lady president was already putting a thick, stubby arm around the tall, dark-eyed girl's slender waist and leading her to a chrome and leather chair.

"Come and sit down, here in the president's own personal seat. You shall hear everything, just as I heard it fifteen minutes ago. Someone bring us some more hot tea, and perhaps some fresh face towels to dry the poor girl's tears."

Andy was a little dazed by all the fuss being made over her. When Miranda was around she was invisible, yet all at once she was the center of attention. The President of Santa Dorina was standing behind her chair, rubbing her shoulders and coaxing her to swallow a little herbal tea. Andy appreciated the warmth, especially since she was still wearing the wet bathing suit she'd put on back at the hotel. Dabbing her eyes with a moist, heated towel, she forced herself to focus on the report of the hard-eyed security chief, Pierre Dumont.

"Half an hour ago, a guard at Checkpoint Six, deep in the jungle, radioed the palace security center to get permission to allow an unauthorized vehicle to enter the Forbidden Zone."

"The Forbidden Zone?" Andy shuddered, imagining a frightening landscape of barbed wire fences and searchlights, patrolled by fierce, snarling guard dogs.

"An area of the jungle we've cordoned off, for security reasons," Madame Mirabeau explained. "It's where the Disruptors are most active. They're filthy malcontents!"

"The vehicle at Checkpoint Six did not wait for authorization," Pierre Dumont gravely intoned. "The captain of the guard ordered them to halt, but the driver disregarded his orders. The passenger was an American national, female, age approximately fifty-five years old. Her description is as follows. Five feet, nine inches, blue scarf, silver hair . . ."

"Oh, Miranda." Andy swallowed hard, choking back a fresh wave of tears. She could picture the scene so clearly in her mind. Miranda demanding to know the truth, insisting on taking a personal look at the impoverished jungle settlements. Ignoring orders, pushing past the guards . . . it was all so completely in character for a woman who built an empire by taking chances and obeying no law but her own.

"The Disruptors began their campaign of sabotage six months ago," Madame Mirabeau explained, picking up the briefing where her security chief had left off. "They have been making every effort to distort and falsify the real goals of our modernization program. But the media has ignored their ridiculous protests and unfounded claims . . . till now."

"Now they have a hostage," Andy said bluntly. "That changes everything, doesn't it?" The girl in the tall chair slumped her shoulders, then straightened them in defiance. Feelings of relief that Miranda was being kept alive as a valuable hostage were instantly outweighed by outrage and anger. How dare they turn a cultivated, courageous human being like Miranda Priestley into a powerless political pawn!

"They may have Miranda," Madame President declared, running her plump, bejeweled hands over Andy's slim shoulders, "but we have you. Your face on the news will tell the real story of this outrageous kidnapping. Together we can fight them, darling Andrea!"

"Fight them!" Andy echoed the words with passion, ignoring the clammy feeling of having the older woman's hot, damp palms on her body. Miranda needed help, and Madame Mirabeau would make sure she came back safe and sound.

"Bring in the press!" the lady president called.

Andy sat up straight in her chair, blinking her big brown eyes like a deer caught in the headlights. From outside the door, there came the sound of voices, whirring cameras, and sound equipment being wheeled on heavy carts.


	17. No Free Lunch

_Chapter Seventeen: No Free Lunch_

"No, Nigel, that's not what Miranda said at all. The look she wants is softer, like Marie Antoinette eating truffles at Versailles, not Sarah Palin stabbing a moose in Saskatchewan. Go with the golden shades, definitely, and keep it . . . you know, ethereal. And classy. Okay, bye for now!"

Andy Sachs stifled a groan as she stretched in her huge bed at the presidential palace. Between dealing with Miranda's kidnapping and the stress of keeping Runway running, she hadn't been eating or sleeping on any kind of coherent schedule. She'd given interviews, been on CNN, and had countless reporters hounding her for days, to the point where her only refuge had been the lavish suite which the lady president of Santa Dorina had personally assigned her. Andy missed Miranda and was worried sick about her. But Madame Mirabeau was so amazing, sort of carrying her along and keeping her hopes up just by being so supportive and strong. Last night the two of them had staid up in the communications room until 2 AM, sitting side by side and listening to status reports from the island nation's security forces. Marie was so kind and thoughtful, even when Andy crashed and fell asleep with her head on Madame's firm shoulder. It was the worrying that wore her out. If only she could get out of the palace and join the search . . .

"A visitor is here to see you, Mademoiselle." The pretty island girl in the frilly maid's uniform gave her a shy smile from the doorway of the luxurious suite.

"Oh, OK. Send him in." Andy sat up in bed, puzzled that someone had been allowed through the security cordon. Up till now Madame Mirabeau had been very careful to keep her in seclusion, simply because the worldwide media were giving the dark-eyed beauty no chance to rest. Last night had been her first real sleep in ages, she thought, yawning.

"Hello, kid. Have they got you under house arrest here?" Asked the tall, silver-haired man with the craggy features and the intense blue eyes.

"Prescott!" Andy was so happy to see her old mentor that she jumped right out of bed and ran to embrace him, not caring that she wore nothing but an ivory lace silk peignoir. Prescott Hamilton was the one person (aside from Miranda) that she had been dying to see since all this began.

"Why did you ask if they had me under house arrest?" she asked, the moment the two friends were seated together on a large sofa by the window. "I'm the personal guest of the President of Santa Dorina."

"Yeah, I see that," the veteran newsman said cynically, looking around the opulent bedchamber where Andy had lazed away the morning in luxury. "Tell me something, kid. Did you actually see Miranda get kidnapped by the opposition forces?"

"Huh?" Andy didn't understand the question, and before she could get Prescott to explain himself the cheerful, smiling maid in the frilly uniform was back again, this time with breakfast.

"Have you eaten anything?" she asked politely, a bit embarrassed to be eating at a time like this. But everything was fresh and incredibly appetizing, there was an amazing assortment of tropical fruit, from pineapples to melons to mango to papaya, and really there was no point in letting perfectly good food go to waste.

Prescott helped himself to smoked salmon and a fresh croissant. "You've got it soft, here, love, and no mistake," he said quietly.

"God, you think I don't know that?" Andy asked, her huge brown eyes illuminated by a look of pure anguish. "I didn't see Miranda get kidnapped. I don't have any idea how it happened. We went on a tour of the island, and I wasn't feeling so well after flying around in that helicopter. Miranda brought me back to the hotel and gave me something for my headache. She told me to lie down, and try to rest for a few hours. When I woke up she was gone. And that's all I know!"

"So we only have Madame Mirabeau's word for it that the opposition forces are responsible."

"Marie calls them the Disruptors," Andy said, talking with her mouth full. "She said they've been trying to bring down her government for years. I think Miranda wanted to hear their side of the story."

"Then isn't that what we should be doing?" Prescott Hamilton asked quietly. "Rule number one in journalism, Sachs. Never take special favors, and never take the government view at face value. I learned that lesson in Vietnam, years before you were even born."

Just then a couple of government security men in black suits and sunglasses walked into the room. "Mr. Hamilton, Madame President wishes to see you in her private office."

The tall, rugged American journalist rose from his seat on the sofa, giving Andy Sachs a glance. "Remember what we talked about, kid. There's no free lunch in journalism. Not even a free breakfast!"

Andy gulped down the last of her breakfast, suddenly frantic to escape her luxurious quarters. But when she rose to follow Prescott to the door, one of the security men blocked her way.

"Madame President wishes you to remain here, Mademoiselle. She will see you later, when her schedule permits."

"Be careful, Prescott!" Andy called out. But then the door slammed and she was alone, a powerless prisoner with a huge breakfast tray and a bed fit for a queen.


	18. Helpless and Trembling

_Chapter Eighteen: Helpless and Trembling_

"MMMbrrmmm!" The long line of army trucks moved slowly up the dirt trail deep in the jungles of Santa Dorina. With each jerky stop or sudden lurch the soldiers crammed into the back of the lagging rearmost truck were jolted back and forth.

"Huh? Are we there yet?" Andy Sachs was nearly thrown out of her seat by the latest jolt. It was early morning, yet her fresh new camouflage uniform was already plastered to her slender young body with sweat.

"We're barely an hour from base camp." Prescott Hamilton's kindly, creased features took on a look of amusement as he drank in the bewildered, frightened expression on the dark-eyed young girl's exquisite features. "Relax, Sachs. Try to rest if you can. First rule of combat: grab whatever sleep you can, when you can."

"Sleep when you can, got it!" Andy had been sleeping quite soundly when the tall, commanding older man banged on her door at 5 AM. Part of her had almost been tempted to stay in bed. But innocent Andy was devoted to her strong-willed employer, who was missing and unaccounted for. And so she had volunteered willingly to accompany Pulitzer Prize Winning Author Prescott Hamilton into the jungle, even though he had brought another assistant with him to the strife-torn tropical island

"I brought Jamie Zuglowski with me," Prescott had informed her, as he was helping Andy scramble into the back of a military truck. "You know how we talked about breaking him in over the summer. But he's made a contact on the president's staff, a good-looking young assistant minister who seemed very eager to talk to him. Right now he's following up an important inside lead."

"Mmph." Andy had been too sleepy to say anymore, but she sincerely hoped that gorgeous, blonde Jamie would do well as a war correspondent. The poor boy was so anxious to please his macho father, a Korean War veteran who had also been a huge baseball star in the Major Leagues! Andy was glad Jamie had come to Santa Dorina, glad he had taken her advice to go for what he really wanted. Still, as the truck jolted along, she found herself wondering whether Jamie's "big lead" wasn't really just an excuse to have some alone time with a young, gorgeous guy. Maybe the two of them were having sex this minute! Miranda always said it was a mistake to mix business and pleasure, though she was known to make an exception now and then. As the heat and humidity seeped deep into her bones, Andy's big brown eyes drifted shut. Her head sank lower and lower, gradually coming to rest against Prescott Hamilton's strong shoulder. As sleep enfolded her, Andy forgot about the steamy jungle and the dangerous political situation on the island of Santa Dorina. Instead she began to imagine that she was back in New York, working hard at RUNWAY. She pictured Miranda summoning her into her private office for business . . . and for pleasure.

**_BOOM!_** TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The explosion and the sound of gunfire ripped through the army convoy, causing instant chaos. Andy was thrown to the floor of the truck at once, with Prescott Hamilton's big body pinning her down.

"Ambush!" the veteran correspondent shouted into her ear. "The rebels have hit the government convoy!"

"Miranda!" Andy wailed. If the anti-government rebels were attacking a large convoy like this, and Miranda was their hostage, her life was in danger. "We've got to get to Miranda!"

"No chance," Prescott shouted. "We're pinned down here. Have to get outside, use our cameras!"

Bullets zinged past the truck, a few of them zipping neat holes in the heavy canvas. Andy wondered if leaving the truck was really the smartest choice. But she had no time to wonder for long. Prescott Hamilton was on the move. The silver-haired journalist grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the truck, steering her towards a thick grove of bushes in the dense jungle.

"Stay there!" Prescott yelled, pushing Andy into the thickest part of the undergrowth. He handed her his high-powered Swiss camera. "Stay undercover and shoot whatever you can. Shoot anything that moves! I'm going to see what's going on at the front of the convoy." And then the Pulitzer-prize winning journalist simply vanished.

Andy realized that the safest thing to do was to stay where she was, safely hidden from sight, while the battle raged all around her. But when the gunfire ceased for a moment, she looked up from her hiding place. Prescott was gone, and there was no sign of the green-clad government troops. She was just moving unsteadily back towards the truck when it was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade and exploded into flames!

Knocked backward by the blast, Andy didn't stop to see if she was injured or not. She turned and ran, fleeing blindly into the thickest part of the jungle. She had forgotten Prescott and her mission and documenting the truth. She was desperate to get away from the scorching flames and shooting metal and the stench of burning fuel. Though she ran until her lungs were raw and her heart was nearly bursting, her desperate flight took her just a hundred or so paces from the rutted dirt road. Then all at once she tripped over a root and fell, sprawling out face-downwards in the dirt. There was a rustling sound, perhaps three or four rebels coming closer, their bodies brushing aside the dense green foliage of the jungle. Did they see her? Andy lay gasping for air like a beached fish, helpless and trembling from head to toe.

"Pick her up," said a familiar female voice. The softness of tone was unmistakable, as was the almost hypnotic power of total command.


End file.
